The Way of the Bookman
by ChiharuSato22
Summary: This is the way of the Bookman. It is old, it is a tradition, and it is irreversible. Two choices, now - there are no in-betweens: love or Bookman duty. Is it really a choice, though? Hasn't he already made his decision?


There is something in this life that I have learned while observing the world. There are many types of people. There are those who revel in the pain of others and others who revel in making others happy. There are those who are stupid and rich and those who are poor and unforgivably intelligent. But, it all boils down to two types of people: those on top and those below. There is no fairness and equality in life—in the world. That would be no stretch of the imagination.

Then, there are those who watch from a neutral stance—those who have no place in history, those who only watch from the outside like Alice and her looking glass. Bookman.

As a bookman, we are not to have any personality traits, any names, or a history, even. When you have any of those, you become a part of history—minor or major does not matter. We are historians, in a sense. We record all of history's great exploits from an unbiased stance. Emotions are useless in this profession of sorts.

The Bookman organization is a reclusive one with a great many secrets. There is only one official Bookman. That is, well, _the_ Bookman. I am known as Bookman Junior, but, really, I have no name. Currently, I am using my forty-ninth alias, Lavi.

I am Bookman's succesor. I am never to have a place for feelings—emotions—because a bookman has not a place for such things. Such things are a hindrance to our line of work. Still, I unwittingly developed them, rendering me useless. I was a failure as a bookman.

I could never maintian an unbiased opinion and a neutral stance overall with emotions and feelings. I had failed, essentially, to fulfill my goal in life. Unfulfillment is a social norm, but it wasn't the same. I had devoted the entirety of my life to becoming the existence known as Bookman and had failed. Not only that, Bookman was vastly disappointed in me. Still, it was not all for naught.

I had fallen in love with someone unexpected. Even now, I have not a clue why I love them. Perhaps it was their beauty that drew me in at first—the silvery white hair and the pale, pale complexion. Or, perhaps, it was their open personality—their warm smile that was for everyone. Maybe, it was because they were the "Destroyer of Time" that I became first interested in them. Maybe, it was all of those factors combined. Still, I was inexplicably in love with this one person—Allen Walker. It wasn't a mere feeling of friendship or companionship, it wasn't a lust, either. I couldn't explain it.

A bookman has no need for attachments. They are detrimental and only further discourage progress. They influence decisions and personal views, introducing a variable called bias. Worst of all, though, when emotions are developed in a bookman, they become attached to their persona and are less willing to release them. Or, in a worst case scenario, unwilling to release them _at all_. Despite how in love I was with Allen, I could never do that. I knew as much. Allen was my world right now but we both knew that a day and a time would come when it all would _have_ to change. We hadn't a choice any longer. As the war thinned to an end, we found ourselves, knowing it wasn't right, wishing it wouldn't end just yet—just one more year; one more month; one more week—for we could not fathom what life would become. This had become our reason for existence. I needed Allen. Still, I knew I would have to lose those feelings I felt when we embraced; when we held hands; when we kissed. They were useless as sentimental value is useless—sentimentality is useless. I had taught myself that when my parents abandoned me. I had become a burden after being born. They had no need for a child. They were still young. I had been left with the Bookman clan to raise me as a bookman. Nearly immediately, I displayed talents that they needed so I was no longer an errand boy. The Head Bookman (Panda Gramps) took me under his wing and taught me all that I know today and, something he would always reinforce in me was the ever-so-famous Bookman saying that went: _"A Bookman has no need for a heart"_. I knew that better than anyone. I had always been difficult in releasing personas for I had the tendency of growing attached to them, though, not to the point of refusal for it to be released just extreme difficulty. That aside, Bookman still made me his successor thus the title "Bookman Junior".

I was so helpless. I constantly turned to Allen for rescue. I could not save myself from drowning in this pool of unfamiliar emotions. Still, he would reassure me and make me believe this love we shared was a genuine one even when the world had turned their backs to us. We could feel the dirty looks they gave us—it was no secret we were together—and it was really beginning to get to me but Allen was strong. In this Victorian day and age, people were so adamantly against homosexuality that they would shun them from communities. Allen showed me how to show gratitude for their less overbearing responses. I, reluctantly, found myself agreeing if only to please him. I couldn't help but feel my anger flair when they "accidentally" shoved him or pushed him down the stairs. Somehow, the Vatican, strict as they were, got ahold of this information and, though they could not force their beliefs on us, found excuses to put Allen under trial and deem him a traitor. It was absolutely ridiculous but the Order let them because they depended on the Vatican for resources and needed their permission for most of the things they did. How could they do such a thing to someone so valuable not only as a potential general and brilliant exorcist but as a companion? They _allowed_ Allen, the angel and the most pure of them all, to fall under false judgement. It was terrible of them. Surprisingly, Lenalee and Komui came to when this all happened and tried their hardest to pull Allen out of this situation. Many thanks are in order to them.

Each and every day Allen seemed to become more weary with this game of hide-and-seek we played. He would never leave the Order, though. He had promised himself and Mana—he had sworn on his grave that he would save the akuma's tortured souls and that he would keep on walking. It had broken me when he told me one day that this all would lead us nowhere and that it was best we ended it while we were still not in too deep. That was a lie. I was in _far_ too deep. I had already decided to myself that I would give up my Bookman duties—I would have given up that which was my life and let myself fall into a life of discrimination and hatred from the world if only to have his love and his smile. Now, he was telling me that he was growing tired of this and his feelings only ran as deep as he could bear to stand. That was the first time we had fought over something. He threw his arms up in the air in exasperation and shouted at me all the while telling me, "Don't you get it? This will never go the way we wish for it to go, Lavi! Even if we don't end it early, you are a Bookman and I am an Exorcist! You're only here because it's convenient!" That was the first time, also, that I had realized that he had thought the same thoughts I had. We both had fear of leaving the other behind as we parted on our very separate paths.

I no longer wanted to be a Bookman. I knew that I had devoted the entirety of my life to being a Bookman. Still, my devotion had shifted onto Allen. My Bookman duties were now second priority to our relationship. Allen grew to become my world and I couldn't even understand what life would be if I wasn't with him. He was something that was too large for me to move away from. I had long since known it was wrong but the discrimination was so heavy and cruel it was harder to wonder just _which_ was wrong. Was it us or those who were hurting us because we weren't in the right? I had always wondered if any sin was worse than another. No, they weren't. We were all born sinful and fell short of the glory of God—I had grown up in that belief. So, lying and hurting people was just as sinful as us. Their cruel thoughts and their hatred was just as sinful—when you hated, you murdered someone in your heart and murder was a sin. Who were they to judge us? What gave them the right to indicate we were worse than they were? I could never, though, understand how this was a sin. All the other sins were spawned by hatred, but this was of love. Was that, then, telling us that only _certain_ kinds of love were acceptable? Or, was it telling us that a love like this wasn't possible? No, I loved Allen to the point of throwing all my beliefs, hopes, and dreams to the wind for him.

I learned love was painful. They would never understand us, those we had thought to be comrades and friends. They, now, pushed us far away. Still, we held onto each other and told each other that a love like this was like any other love—it was real. We would tell ourselves over and over that so long as we had each other, everything was right in the world. We were all we had, now.

Still, now, I look to Allen in adoration. I cannot do anything but love him. It would be better that I showed the truth that I was in love rather than I live a lie. I know how ironic that is—my name and my history are all a lie—but I also know that this aspect of my life can be the truth if I accept it. So, I cannot bring myself to see this as something wrong. We were always taught not to lie and taught the evils of lying. So, how could living a lie be better than this?

I knew Bookman's concerns were valid—I was to become a Bookman—but I had a will, too. And, for the first time, I had found something that I was willing to work for that was for _myself_ and not someone else's wishes. It was something I had never felt before—satisfaction.

I think its best this thought of mine be concluded with this—though I am willing to give up my Bookman path, I will never forget what I learned as a Bookman: History repeats itself. Most of all, homosexual discrimination, racial discriination, and other such things will never cease just as wars and events do.

To the person who finds this stashed in the library archive, this is yet another one of my records. This is a record that will always be in my heart and, no matter what time period you are reading this in, you will understand.

I believe that love is real.


End file.
